


Concerning Fauntlings

by vtforpedro



Series: Concerning Fauntlings [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And a bean, Hobbits Breed Like Rabbits, Just discussions of it, M/M, Mpreg, No actual mpreg, Thorin is a Softie, hey look they're actually a dwarf and hobbit in this one, what has this fandom done to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 09:37:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7635268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtforpedro/pseuds/vtforpedro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the arrival of the Company in Lake-town, Bilbo and Thorin finally get some alone time; time they have very much needed since Mirkwood's dungeons. Bilbo has a discussion with Thorin that he maybe should have had earlier about where <i>some</i> fauntlings come from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concerning Fauntlings

Bilbo noticed the room was getting rather warm - stifling more like - and he was having trouble concentrating through the haze of it. It didn’t help that lips were moving along his neck, pausing on where his pulse was dashing quite madly, before sliding up and beneath the underside of his jaw. The scrape of a beard over his sensitive skin caused a high-pitched keening noise to escape before he could stop it. Teeth nipped him then as he felt and heard a rumbling chuckle against his own chest. It brought him out of his revere and he dug his hand further into Thorin’s silky hair, tugging at it in an attempt to lift the dwarf’s head. He didn’t. Stubborn goat.  
  
“Thorin… I ah, think that… we should wait just a moment here. No, we have to,” Bilbo said, scolding himself for how breathless he sounded. He had meant to have this conversation before they made it to the bed, preferably at a table with a nice cup of tea to settle his nerves. But then Thorin had stepped into the room after one final meeting with the Master of Lake-town and once he had met those _smoldering_ blue eyes, he couldn’t really get his protests out as they had died a pitiful death in his throat. Then he had been bodily tackled into the damn bed and curse its softness after so long without one!  
  
The dwarf let out a noncommittal noise and continued his exploration of the hobbit’s neck, moving slowly down and over his collar bone, tugging impatiently at the clothes impeding his way. His other hand had slid under his tunic, fingers brushing teasingly over his belly and up toward his nipple and nope, nope, not good.  
  
“Listen here, I have to speak with you about s-something- _Thorin!_ For Yavanna’s sake, you dog, stop a moment,” Bilbo hissed, attempting to ignore the fingertips pinching at his extremely _sensitive_ nipple, thank you.  
  
“Be quiet,” Thorin rumbled against him, tugging his tunic down further at the collar. Bilbo briefly wondered if the dwarf realized it was counterproductive to be pulling his tunic in two different directions. He scowled.  
  
It wasn’t an order or said with any force, simply a breezy dismissal as if he thought the hobbit couldn’t possibly have anything more important than their current activities to say. Well, he certainly did.  
  
A quick yank on his hair and a harsh pinch to Thorin’s side earned him a surprised grunt, the dwarf’s head finally snapping up to look at him with narrowed eyes. “Do that again, burglar, and you will forget your words,” he murmured. Bilbo nearly rolled his eyes. He was so utterly dramatic in everything he did.  
  
Though, he did rather believe Thorin - just not when he had other thoughts on his mind.  
  
“I will not forget my words because they are _important_ and I meant to speak with you about this before you rough-housed me onto this bed,” Bilbo said pointedly, keeping a firm hold on his dwarf’s hair, just in case he thought to continue his languid and enticing attentions.  
  
“You would have us wait longer for this? After all the maddening time we have already spent so close to each other but unable to touch?” Thorin asked, raising an eyebrow as he gave a roll of his hips to emphasize his point. Damn.  
  
Bilbo made an odd gurgling noise as he attempted to stop his groan and make it a grunt of annoyance instead. He flushed as he saw one corner of the dwarf’s lips turn up in a smirk as if he thought he had won this conversation.  
  
“I would have us wait, though hopefully it is a _short_ wait, but it might not be depending on your reaction,” the hobbit breathed out, meeting Thorin’s eyes, his pupils large with arousal. That caught his attention a bit though.  
  
_Just_ a bit considering he had rolled his hips again and Bilbo felt his hard length brushing against his through their clothes. “Thorin, you will stop this at once or so help me, you will not be allowed to touch until Erebor herself is rebuilt,” he hissed, shooting a hot glare up at him.  
  
Thorin raised an incredibly unimpressed eyebrow because they both knew that wasn’t true but he stopped his movements nonetheless, resting his forearms on either side of Bilbo, keeping himself propped up.  
  
“I am listening,” he said, letting out a long-suffering sigh that the hobbit knew was more put on than authentic.  
  
Bilbo opened his mouth and then promptly shut it with a click. Now that he had Thorin’s attention, all the well thought out explanations he had rehearsed in his mind died on his lips. How could he possibly explain this? Would Thorin be angry? Yes, more than likely. Would he rather not touch Bilbo ever again after he told him? Yes, probably. Would he think hobbits entirely too strange for a dwarf the likes of him? Most definitely.  
  
The hobbit briefly thought of brushing it off to speak about later before he scolded himself harshly - that would be the most selfish and horrid act he could do.  
  
He let out a long, considering hum, lowering his eyes to Thorin’s lips, biting at his own. How? How could he do this now?  
  
After the Carrock, the brief glances between one another had started and only increased as they ventured further along in their journey. Thorin would seek him out at supper and sit with him, conversing until late or one of them had watch. The dwarf had begun to come by smiles and laughs more easily as every night passed and Bilbo eventually found himself craving that, _needing_ it. He had to see that handsome smile, the one that seemed shy sometimes and unashamedly teasing at others. The soft chuckles he would have or the booming laughter that would unexpectedly burst from his chest and nearly destroy Bilbo every time it happened. Then Thorin began to _touch_ him, small brushes of his arm against Bilbo’s or his hand on his shoulder or on the small of his back when he thought he might need help over some rough terrain (he didn’t and he knew they both knew it.) And then, once he had finally freed the dwarf from his cell in Mirkwood, he had embraced Bilbo far more tightly and intimately than he had on the Carrock, his hands in questionable places, his nose buried into the hobbit’s hair before it had been buried in his _neck_. Bilbo was lost as soon as he had felt that warm breath against his shoulder and he had only found himself again when Thorin had kissed him for the first time in the hours after Bard smuggled them away.  
  
“Bilbo?” Thorin questioned and his eyes slid up to meet concerned blue ones.  
  
He cleared his throat and nodded his reassurance that he was alright even if he was very, very far from it. “Sorry. Simply thinking of the best way to go about this,” he muttered with a soft sigh.  
  
Thorin frowned and pushed himself up a bit further, looking searchingly over Bilbo’s face before he slid to his side. A large, warm arm draped over his hips as Thorin held himself up with his other elbow, all concern and love and patience now. It broke the hobbit’s heart, just a little.  
  
“Speak freely, Bilbo. I will listen with an open mind and heart. You need not worry,” he murmured quietly, his thumb slipping under Bilbo’s tunic to rub small, soothing circles over his hip.  
  
Sweet _Yavanna_ , he might faint before he could get it out.  
  
“Yes. Well. Let’s see… I suppose I should start with a bit of Hobbit history. Us hobbits have certain… facts we keep to ourselves, about our race. Much like you secretive dwarves but ours is mostly out of necessity and not ridiculous stubbornness,” he began, smiling a little at Thorin’s displeased huff. “Hobbits are a rather procreative race, you know.”  
  
“I seem to remember thinking something along those lines on my brief morning in the Shire,” Thorin said, amusement twinkling in his eyes now. Bilbo grinned.  
  
“Yes, fauntlings are always underfoot. I have countless cousins at this point and I’m sure the number has increased just since I’ve been away! Did you know, a Ranger who once traveled through with news from across the river, compared us to rabbits? He said, ‘If someone asks what a Hobbit is like, you simply tell them like rabbits on two feet. They are skittish, afraid of big things, fluffy, and breed the same.’ Well, let me tell you, he was run swiftly out of town by Longo Baggins and a well-brandished rake. A most terribly rude thing to say to us hobbits, you know,” he explained, nodding sagely.  
  
“Clearly a grievous mistake,” Thorin chuckled, leaning down and placing a soft kiss to Bilbo’s brow, causing his heart rate to increase at the touch. He didn’t deserve this dwarf, not at all.  
  
Bilbo cleared his throat as he covered his mouth with a fist, ignoring his sweaty palms and attempting to gather his thoughts again. “Well, even if there are an endless amount of fauntlings, we cherish them all very much. But… oh goodness, let’s see. Hobbit couples most often consist of a male and female, though it’s not uncommon for two males or two females to fall madly in love and live the rest of their days together. In those cases, hobbit lasses can most certainly seek out adoption, though it is indeed very rare we have any orphans _to_ adopt. There have been rumors of, ah, _donors_ but that’s rather hush hush. However…”  
  
He trailed off, wincing, moving his hand up and over Thorin’s loose tunic, gently gripping the material in his fist. Best just get it out. “Us male hobbits can also, um, breed. I mean. Between two males. As in, if two males mate, it is entirely possible to create a fauntling from the act. Ahh… yes. So, yes,” he managed haltingly, avoiding looking at Thorin at all costs, grinding his teeth in worry.  
  
Thorin didn’t say anything for a long moment and just when Bilbo was thinking of pulling away, he cleared his own throat. “Bilbo. Are you saying you are capable of carrying a child? Of becoming… pregnant with a- a fauntling? Simply by lying with another male hobbit?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral but still a bit stilted.  
  
The hobbit flushed, pursing his lips tight as he gave a quick nod. “Yes. Yes, that is what I am saying. I am capable of carrying a child. It has long been said that it is a gift from Yavanna,” he said quietly. He finally took a deep breath, admonishing himself for being a coward, and looked up to meet Thorin’s gaze. He blinked. The dwarf was staring at him as if he had grown two heads, but upon seeing Bilbo look at him, he visibly forced himself to wipe _any_ emotion away.  
  
Bilbo’s heart broke again, just a tiny bit, in his chest. Yes, Thorin thought him a freak and hobbits entirely unnatural and he would certainly not want anything to do with him, though Bilbo _could_ take certain herbs to prevent such a thing from happening-  
  
“Bilbo,” Thorin said, startling the hobbit out of his thoughts by how rough and _choked_ his voice sounded. He was staring at Bilbo with something close to reverence and utter caution, his chest expanding and contracting slightly more quickly than it had been a moment before. “Do you know if hobbits are capable of breeding with dwarves?”  
  
He frowned at the question, a small flicker of hope lighting in his chest, though he tried to take it with a grain of salt. “No, I have no idea. I don’t know of any such attempts between our races but I would at least say it should be considered a possibility. Men and Elves can indeed produce young between themselves, though I am told they attempt to keep it from happening, those pesky immortal lives to consider and all,” he rushed, giving a forced chuckle.  
  
Thorin dipped his head and stared at Bilbo from under his dark lashes, eyes boring into his and oh, whatever _that_ look meant it made him want to make a mad dash for the door. It was deep and heady with emotion, as if his dwarf was considering some life or death situation, Bilbo at the center of it. Those blue eyes were searching his as if he held the answers of _Eru himself_ and the hobbit shifted uneasily.  
  
“I would rather like to know what you’re thinking before I decide to faint in front of you again, I’d like to save myself from the emba-“  
  
“Would you consider it?” Thorin interrupted as if Bilbo hadn’t been speaking and his Baggins’ side harrumphed a bit at that. He scolded it away. Besides, the dwarf had his deep Kingly voice on, demanding an answer and leaving no room to wriggle away from it.  
  
“Pardon? Consider what?” Bilbo tried anyway in a much too high pitched voice, though he was fairly sure he knew what Thorin was asking. And from the narrow-eyed gaze sent his way, Thorin seemed to know he knew. “I- well, I mean, Thorin, that’s quite a lot to ask for and risk, considering our main goal here is to uproot and kill a dragon.”  
  
“I know that. And I believe with all my heart that we will succeed. We must. And when we do, when we take back Erebor from that filth and begin to rebuild… would you consider it? If it were possible for a hobbit and dwarf to create a child, would you consider doing so with me?”  
  
His dwarf’s voice was so _thick_ with emotions that Bilbo hadn’t heard so deeply yet. Hope, caution, fear, some bit of desperation. _Want_. It was harsh with it and made the hobbit want to kiss his worries away.  
  
Bilbo blinked unexpected moisture from his eyes, staring at Thorin for a moment before he found himself nodding. “Yes. Yes, I would indeed consider it and half a second later tell you I would be most honored and delighted to share that with you,” he whispered, sliding his hand up to cup Thorin’s cheek, running his thumb along his cheekbone.  
  
Thorin clamped his eyes shut tight, turning into the touch, his own hand moving up to cup Bilbo’s. “I know that it may not be possible between us, but I would beg and plead every day with Mahal and Yavanna to make such a thing so. I wish to keep you by my side, to rule Erebor together, to have you as my consort, from this moment on and always. But the idea of something I had previously thought impossible, something I thought I would never have… to have it with you, Bilbo Baggins, would be the second largest blessing of my life. The first was having you join it,” he said so quietly, so sweetly, eyes opening to meet Bilbo’s and that just wasn’t _fair_.  
  
“Oh dear,” he mumbled most eloquently. What could he say in return to that? Thorin, if he could, wanted to have a child with him. He wanted Bilbo to sit by his side as consort and raise _fauntlings_ with him.  
  
Apparently Thorin knew he wasn’t capable of proper speech at that moment because he suddenly crushed his lips to Bilbo’s, his arm sliding under the hobbit’s neck to cup the back of his head and hold him steady. Bilbo’s lips opened quite eagerly and Thorin obliged, his tongue sliding in to brush over his own, pulling out a heated moan from both of them. They kissed long and deep, bodies reheating to their previously aroused state, pressing firmly into each other.  
  
Finally parting for air, Thorin buried his face into his hobbit’s neck, nosing gently against him, hot breaths ghosting moisture over his skin. “Bilbo,” he choked out, sounding rather wrecked, and really, Bilbo was quite surprised he himself hadn’t burst into thick hobbity tears yet. “I would have you. I would have you _now_ but I will not risk your safety anymore than I already have, if I were to… if we were to be with child. I cannot allow that until we are safely inside Erebor’s halls. I would think of nothing else.”  
  
Bilbo nodded dumbly, his brain attempting to backtrack from imagining little fauntlings bustling around their legs and to the present, before he and Thorin had even made love for the first time. After a moment, he started. “I agree wholeheartedly with you, I would not risk such a thing, either. However, us hobbits do have herbs we use to make it nearly impossible for our bodies to quicken and they’ve proven very effective. Some don’t wish to have children until they’ve enjoyed each other’s company for a few years. Though they’re admittedly more rare than couples who wish to have ten children,” he rambled, nodding. A spark of amusement burst through his chest as Thorin paled and he watched him mouth ‘ _ten_ ’ to himself.  
  
“Don’t worry, I only want seven, quite the lucky number you know,” he said conversationally, then laughed as Thorin’s wide eyes looked at his own, his mouth hanging open. As he continued to laugh, his dwarf gave him a most unamused look.  
  
“It was hard enough dealing with Fili and Kili as dwarflings. Dwarves are also hard to breed - to have three in one family is considered a blessing. Very few of our dwarrordams consider having more, as with each child, the dangers of pregnancy and birth increase,” he said, brows drawing together. Bilbo promptly shut his insensitive mouth.  
  
“Oh my, I didn’t know that. That’s terribly sad. I suppose Fili and Kili are quite special then, aren’t they?” he asked. Thorin raised an eyebrow and he shrugged. “Well they _were_ at some point, now they’re both just menaces.”  
  
His dwarf chuckled before he gave a heavy sigh, a frown taking over his face. “There were three of us. Myself, my sister, and our brother. The line of Durin is known to be strong,” he said quietly, eyes tracing over the stitching of Bilbo’s tunic. The hobbit felt his stomach plummet - he had absolutely no idea Thorin had a brother and it seemed he very much didn’t anymore. He was afraid to ask.  
  
When Thorin met his gaze again, his eyes softened and a small smile graced his lips. “Frerin. He fell at Azanulbizar. He was not even of age and shouldn’t have been part of the battle, but we needed all dwarven axes we could get and he was a fighter. A very fine one.”  
  
Bilbo’s heart clenched tightly in his chest, a surge of sympathy and adoration for his dwarf attempting to burst forth. Thorin had lost his grandfather, his father, _and_ his brother on one battlefield. To think he remained so terribly strong, so devoted to what he believed in - perhaps even more so for his losses. It was very admirable.  
  
“Oh, Thorin, I had no idea. I am sorry,” Bilbo whispered, hand winding once again through his black locks, his thumb finding the shell of Thorin’s ear. “Will you tell me about him?”  
  
To Bilbo’s surprise, a quick and easy grin spread over the dwarf’s lips before disappearing again far too quickly.  
  
“He had Fili’s coloring and bearing. Though I would say in personality he was more akin to Kili. However, Frerin had a rather sharp mind, which is far more than I can say for that nephew of mine,” he murmured, one of his large hands slipping inside of Bilbo’s tunic again, holding onto his soft belly. The hobbit already knew that Thorin tended to wander there and he was fairly sure it was going to become a far-too-often occurrence. As long as he could keep his sticky paws off of him in front of the rest of the Company, Bilbo would let it slide.  
  
He huffed out a laugh. “That’s far too unkind even in all its accuracy,” he said, smiling broadly when Thorin pinched him. “Frerin sounds like a most wonderful dwarf. I wish I could have known him.”  
  
“He was. I believe he would have liked you. Perhaps he would have even tried to claim you, knowing my brother, but of course I would never have let that happen. I would have fought for you,” his dwarf murmured, frowning and shaking his head most seriously as he continued to stroke the hobbit’s skin.  
  
Bilbo stared at him, willing himself to not even crack a smile, let alone show any of the amusement he felt. They were talking about a _very_ long dead brother that Thorin obviously loved deeply but he was speaking as if Frerin might rise from the stone and attempt to woo him out from under his nose.  
  
“Well, I don’t know if it would have been your choice if he moved a bit more quickly than you and it sounds like he would have. I’ve been strangely attracted to blonds in my life, you know. There was a lovely hobbit lass I attempted to steal away in my youth. May Boffin was her name and she was the owner of the finest blonde curls you could see west of the river. You are a unique exception and even then it might only be your royal lineage that appeals to me,” he mused, sliding his free hand up to tap his finger against his lips in thought.  
  
Thorin growled at him, his eyes narrowed, and he tugged roughly at the hem of his trousers, pulling Bilbo closer to him. “Halfling. I wish not to know the names of your previous conquests,” he warned, looking rather unhappy at the thought.  
  
“Well then! I would suggest you refrain from calling me _Halfling_ or I shall start to list them alphabetically-“  
  
“Burglar-“  
  
“Ah ah, no, not that either.”  
  
“ _Bilbo_.” Thorin stated his name in a monotone, dull voice and Bilbo grinned at him.  
  
“Yes, there you have it. Now I will not name any of my previous- what did you call them? Conquests? I prefer dalliances as I hardly conquered anyone but I’ll consider them one and the same for you,” he decided, nodding once as he shifted against Thorin. Who was still staring emotionlessly at him. He raised his eyebrows at the dwarf.  
  
His lip turned up for a moment before he heaved out a sigh. “Tell me more of the herbs you spoke of. I dare not hope they grow past the Shire?” he veered and Bilbo huffed.  
  
“It’s terribly rude to change the subject like that, you know. But those herbs _do_ grow past the Shire. And I happen to have some in my pack right now, as a matter of fact,” he informed his dwarf with a sly smile which very quickly morphed into a scowl at the look in Thorin’s eyes. “They have more than one use! They were growing in the trees outside of Beorn’s home and I picked them. Better safe than sorry when we’re looking forward to being mauled by a dragon and may need some extra herbs after, should we not end up supper.”  
  
Thorin snorted. “That will not happen but I understand the point you are making. You have not used these herbs for anything else, have you? How long until they would take effect for our purpose?” he inquired, his deft fingers untying the laces on Bilbo’s trousers before he could even think of a response.  
  
The hobbit felt his nose twitch as his body responded eagerly to Thorin’s soft touches. He blinked twice to clear his thoughts. “Hmm? Oh, it is recommended to have one cup of tea a day made with them for at least one week before, ah, any actions are taken,” he said, his own hands wandering to Thorin’s tunic and thank _Eru_ he had already rid himself of all his other ridiculous layers.  
  
However, his hand was stayed by Thorin’s and when he looked at his dwarf, he was met with a heavy frown. “Then we must not for at least one week, if what you say is true. We cannot,” he murmured, pulling Bilbo’s wrist to his lips to pepper kisses along it.  
  
Bilbo, who gave a very long suffering sigh, stared at Thorin in exasperation. “Yes, perhaps we will need to wait for _that_ , but from what I’ve come to understand about these things, there is more than one way for us to please each other,” he said, arching a brow at the dwarf. The dwarf who so comically went from a frown to a heady gaze, worries dashed away and pupils dilating again. Bilbo snorted. “That is what I thought, so you can just- _oh!_ ”  
  
He started as Thorin’s hand very unceremoniously slid into his trousers and over his hardening length, a small smirk playing at his lips. As Bilbo opened his mouth to chastise him, Thorin swept down and captured his lips, slipping his tongue in to lick at the hobbit’s mouth. He quite forgot what he wanted to admonish him for.  
  
Only a handful of moments later - maybe two - one of Bilbo’s hands was fisting the soft sheets draped over the bed, the other gripping at the headboard behind him. Thorin was between his legs, long hair tickling over his skin as he moved his mouth so slowly, so _agonizingly_ slowly over his hips and thighs, ignoring his need without a care.  
  
“Thorin,” Bilbo hissed, his breathing quickening the closer the dwarf got to him before he groaned as he once again moved away.  
  
A breathy chuckle escaped Thorin, the gust of it causing Bilbo to jump as it unexpectedly brushed over his length. He didn’t say anything, simply slid his hands underneath Bilbo’s rear and yanked him down a few inches. He himself slid onto his stomach, inching down the bed between Bilbo’s legs and oh, if _that_ wasn’t a most beautiful sight. Those ridiculously warm hands slipped underneath his knees, spreading his legs open and the hobbit couldn’t help but squirm at that. He knew he hardly cut an impressive figure and he was on full display for this dwarf, this king, so much more than he could ever hope to be.  
  
“ _Ghivashel_ ,” Thorin whispered, lips brushing along Bilbo’s inner thigh, causing his large toes to curl and his body to shiver. He didn’t know the word but he could read that tone perfectly well and even if he still had a niggling worry at the back of his mind, most seeped quickly away.  
  
And then that blasted mouth, hot in words and hot in actions, moved in to begin to suckle at _not_ the place Bilbo thought he would, a hitched gasp escaping him. He attempted to keep his moan in and assumed Thorin did not much like that given the quick way he pulled one ball into his mouth and pinched his thigh at the same moment.  
  
Bilbo yelped and then Thorin’s tongue was moving and yes, he was moaning quite wantonly by the time his dwarf’s slick finger nudged at his hole. He jerked in surprise at the feeling but stilled when a growl sounded from below and Thorin slipped his arm underneath Bilbo’s left knee, holding him steady at the hip.  
  
As Thorin continued to gently prod at him with increasing slickness given the work his mouth was putting in, Bilbo once again fisted the sheets, his head tossed back against the pillow, back arching from the bed. He couldn’t help but let out a small whine when that mouth left him, though that was quickly dashed away by a slightly embarrassing strangled noise as Thorin’s finger breached him.  
  
“Thorin,” Bilbo moaned, pressing ever so gently back against the tip of that large finger, wanting more of it. Thorin apparently had other ideas. He slipped out and after a complaint from the hobbit, slipped back in for only a brief _second_ before he left again. “ _Thorin!_ ”  
  
“Patience, _ghivashel_ ,” Thorin murmured against him, sounding far too pleased for Bilbo’s liking. The hobbit kicked him in the side and grinned to himself when his dwarf grunted in surprise. “ _Dashâ melekûn._ ”  
  
Bilbo had no idea what that meant but he assumed it wasn’t flattering. Thorin began to press at him again, thumb sliding over the thin skin surrounding his finger now before it slid up and under his balls, gently lifting and rolling.  
  
After a moment of poking and prodding that was not exactly _pleasurable_ , more questionable than anything else, Bilbo’s eyes popped open and he looked down at Thorin. Thorin, who had a look of concentration and interest on his face as he _examined_ his hobbit. Bilbo felt himself turn tomato red and spluttered.  
  
“Oh, _sweet Yavanna, Thorin!_ You will not find anything any different down there than what you have yourself!” he hissed in mortification. Thorin’s eyes snapped up to his, wide and yes, _caught_ , and then his coloring was mirroring Bilbo’s. “Get on with it, please and thank you, you _complete oaf_. Goodness, the attention span of dwarves, save me from its shortness!”  
  
Thorin rewarded his impatience and insolence with a sharp, hard bite against his hip that caused him to cry out in surprise and _pain_. He was quickly aware he would be carrying _that_ mark around until Durin’s Day and was entirely grateful the Company could not see it.  
  
And then his dwarf went back to his work with a newfound fervor that had Bilbo wriggling against the bed and moaning his name, any thoughts of pregnancy or family whisked away and replaced entirely with _Thorin_ and his damned mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> Soo yeah. I'm not sure what this fandom has done to me in the past few months. When I first started reading before I joined here, I seriously avoided mpreg at all costs because the idea of it was freaking me out. Now I've read ALL THE FICS and dwobbits are totally my thing. Though the whole pregnancy and birth business still irks me out tbh but it does in general anyway :'D I hope readers enjoy! I'm still in love with fluff.
> 
> Also where on earth do you guys find khuzdul translations? Am I blind? I've found a few lists but nothing in depth so if the khuzdul is off, that is why. lol


End file.
